Am I There Yet?

Note from Goldie:  I wrote this about a year ago and never published it.  I have no idea why I didn't.   It seems to be a common theme for me this time of year, as the post I've just completed has a similar theme.     

I've been on a long hiatus from writing again.  Just haven't been in the mood to share any thoughts, although there have been plenty floating around in my head.  I've been spending the months since the anniversary date doing anything and everything that doesn't amount to wasting my time thinking about my former life and events that ended it.  Am I there yet?  No.  

     But I am getting closer.  I no longer waste much time and energy thinking about what happened, how I got here, what is going on at XYZ Elementary, and most of all, why things are what they are in general.   No one can tell me I mattered, because I haven't heard a word from anyone in the administration, or school board, and that silence alone speaks volumes.   I have not reached out to anyone either because it's just better this way.  Just way too awkward on both sides. 

     Do people think I'm crazy?  The people who really know me, no.  People who think they know me, maybe.  Anyone else on the outside, probably. Do I really care what anyone thinks?  No.  

     The main thing that pisses me off at this point are the effects with which I am left:  extreme sensitivity to noise and movement being number one right now.  Generally, I can't stand being in a room with more than one other person.  I can't stand sudden loud noises like my husband's over-dramatized sneezing. Or banging cabinet doors and clattering dishes.  Or being hammered with a series of insignificant questions upon either one of us returning to the house. Or conversations between my son & husband going on with the television or radio on at the same time.  Just regular everyday stuff that used to be no problem.  I can get physically ill or reach a point of extreme irritation and rage if I do not remove myself from those situations before it pushes me beyond my limit.  It can take me anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of days to recover.  I know it's not normal, but neither is the PTSD that has caused it.  I just do what I gotta do, get out of the area, pop in some earplugs and ride it out.  To my knowledge, my husband and son have no idea how I am affected by these things and I'm not telling them, because it's my problem, not theirs.   

     Why am I telling anyone this, or writing about it?  Because I want to raise awareness for other people.  I had no idea that these kinds of side effects were part if the whole PTSD thing.  Now that I know about this one, I wonder what else there might be that I have been lucky enough to have avoided experiencing so far.  I refuse to research it, because I do not wish to give my subconscious any ideas. However, I think I am a much more compassionate person by having an awareness, and maybe if I share it with others, they might choose to be a little more kind toward others as a result.  You really never know what another person may be going through in his or her life, and I don't think it would kill any of us to just try to be a little more patient and less in a hurry to spout off whatever ugliness might be going on in our heads when we are dealing with people who may not meet our expectations.  

       So, there it is.  It's your choice how you choose to react to others.  You can be kind, you can be mean, you can avoid.  Whatever you choose, I hope you'll take the time to consider how your choice may impact those around you.